


The “Elementary” Years (1929-1931)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [234]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Destiel - Freeform, Earthquakes, F/F, F/M, Financial Issues, Gay Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sex in the Impala
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: It's AC, not DC, as John says goodbye to the twenties and hullo to another Impala. Sherlock does the right thing by an in-law, and the earth moves beneath him and John.





	1. Mark II

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ginger_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger_angel/gifts).



1929

It was Sherlock’s seventy-fifth birthday, which meant that he got to pick everything that warm September day. After a long, slow sensual start to the day, he decided that he wanted to load up the Impala and head to one of our favourite spots by the River Ouse, not that far away, for a picnic, which he had ordered from one of the great London stores to be delivered to the cottage before lunch-time. And yes, there was pie!

I had been unusually bereft of ideas as to what to get the man I loved as a present for this particular milestone, but as usual he had forestalled me, telling me that his greatest wish was that, when we returned to the cottage, I would grant his one request. Naturally that had me feeling highly-strung for the entirety of the picnic, not helped by frequent touches and knowing looks (and yes, I was wearing the panties, which I felt ridiculous in at my age, but so what?). The pie was delicious, but I could definitely think of another use for the cream, which I knew full well was not the only thing on the river-bank that was completely whipped.

Whips. Hmm. We had not done the professor and student thing for some months now. Although he had been alarmed at my raised heartbeat afterwards, I was sure that I could convince him to....

Sherlock smirked at me again, and I blushed. Hell, I was seventy-seven years old, and behaving like a maiden who was about to lose her virtue for the first time. Which was about as far from the truth as that mysterious giant planet they were reported to be looking for beyond Neptune.

After a gloriously sunny afternoon and some serious making-out on the river-bank, we returned to the village. To my surprise Sherlock insisted on dropping the car off at the garage, where Kent, one of the blacksmith's boys, was waiting in his old banger to give us a life home. I wondered what this was all about, the muscular young fellow's smirk not helping, and wondered even more when Sherlock insisted on blindfolding me on the way back to the cottage.

I heard Kent bid us farewell (and me good luck, the bastard!) before driving off, and Sherlock guided me to somewhere in front of the front door. I smiled as I remembered coming here just after we had arrived here the first time, and the two of us rolling naked down the slope together. That field was a lot bumpier than it had looked.

“Not that”, Sherlock whispered in my ear, making me jump. “You did say that you would do anything for my birthday, John?”

Hell, yes!

“Then I wish for you to..... accept this!”

He undid the blindfold, and I was temporarily blinded by the brightness of the early evening light, even though the sun itself was over the crest of the hill. Then I stared in astonishment at the sight before me.

“It is a Chevrolet AC”, Sherlock smiled. “The latest model and far more efficient that our old one, which only your skilled fingers have kept going till now.”

The vehicle was stunning, done unlike my old car in sleek black all over. And engraved on the side of the car was what was most definitely an impala, just like Sherlock had had done on my old car shortly after I had got it (yes, we had celebrated, as if you needed to ask). I beamed.

“The Impala lives!” I all but shouted. I made to open the door, only to find a restraining hand on my wrist.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“Have you not forgotten something?”

I frowned. Damn old age; what had slipped my memory this time? He grinned.

“We need to christen her”, he smirked.

Hell, yes!


	2. Crash

1930

Sherlock had baked me apple-pie again. I wondered glumly just how bad the news was that he was about to hit me with. Fortunately, it was not bad for us.

“You remember the Wall Street Crash last year?” he began, as I toyed with what may or may not have been my third slice. 

“Of course”, I said warily. “It has not hurt you, has it?”

He shook his head.

“The ever-watchful Jimmy saw it coming, as per usual, and warned me to get out in time”, he said. “I passed the warning on to Mycroft, but he… well, he chose to ignore it.”

Sherlock’s redoubtable mother, Lady Rebecca Holmes, had died the year after the War had ended, and her husband’s will had duly been put into effect, splitting the Holmes inheritance in two between what Sherlock had laughingly called the ‘rebels’ (himself, Mr. Lucius Holmes and Mrs. Anna Thompson) and the ‘loyalists’ (Mycroft, Bacchus and Gaylord Holmes). Sherlock and his sister had communicated with Lucius over in the United States, and their half of matters were arranged that a steady income was paid to all three during their lives, the sum remaining on the death of the last survivor to be split between Ben and Mrs. Thompson's three children. Mycroft had been left in sole charge of his part of the estate when Bacchus had been shot dead (sniff!) and Gaylord had taken his wife back to her native India, having been bought out by his elder brother. I knew that Sherlock had stepped in to help ensure that the widows of both Bacchus and Ranulph were also helped out.

“And now he is ruined?” I mused. I had always hated Mycroft Holmes for his attitude towards Sherlock and myself, the most hostile in the family after the late and un-lamented Ranulph. “What about his wife and family?”

“That is what I wished to talk with you about”, Sherlock explained. “I know that he would refuse any help from me as he still hates us both. But you have always got on well with Rachel, and you exchange letters quite often. I think - hope - that if you made an approach through his wife, he might accept some help. Especially for his family.”

“I am surprised that you would want to help him, after the way he treated us”, I groused.

“It is what Father would have wanted”, Sherlock said, running his hand idly over my shirt. “Though I am sure had the positions been reversed, he would have done precisely nothing.”

“Yet you would still help him”, I said. “You have a big heart, Sherlock.”

I suddenly realized where his hand was heading, and gulped.

“That’ is not the only big thing about me”, he muttered silkily.

Looked like it was going to be a long, hard evening. Praise the Lord and pass the ointment!


	3. Earthmover

1931

Sherlock smiled as he opened the letter.

“It looks like the earth moved for other people as well!” he quipped.

I glared at my seriously unfunny friend. Three nights ago there had been a small earthquake in the North Sea, and although the resultant damage had been minimal, it had occurred during one of our more intense encounters. Another pair of panties gone west, which meant another smirking postman a few days hence. London clothes shops really could do with learning the art of plain packaging, damn them!

“For who else?” I asked, sitting down very slowly and ignoring someone's seriously annoying smirk as best I could.

“Charlie and Gilda”, he said. “Jimmy asked me to warn them both that there would be some flooding incident along the east coast, so their little bed and breakfast establishment might be vulnerable. Fortunately they took his advice and laid in the sandbags, so were protected from the flooding in their village. Their house is fine.”

“That is good”, I sighed. 

“Need another cushion?” he grinned.

I scowled at him. Yes I did, but was his smirk worth it?

Fortunately he proved to be a good fellow by bringing one over anyway, for which I thanked him.

“Not at all”, he smiled. “You will need all the rest you can get. Tonight, I am digging out the Roman gladiator uniform.”

I sat up in shock, which.... so not a good idea. I was sure they could have heard the yelp down in the damn village!

+~+~+

A final set of vignettes from two refined, quiet, well-behaved gentlemen living a refined, quiet, well-behaved life. Or failing that, something about the two of us.


End file.
